Yamashiro, New Samarkand
Galedon District, Draconis Combine
2 November 2577
The sky east the city was alight in eerie imitation of one of its famous fireworks festivals. On this occasion the light came not from gunpowder hurled at the sky in celebration but in the descending wreckage of DCS Kumo, the destroyer having strayed too deep into the atmosphere while trying to screen the capital. Public announcements had warned that the harbour might see atypical waves as a result, although it was believed that the break up of the warship (assisted by fire from a pair of OADF corvettes risking the same fate) would prevent a tsunami.
Coordinator Hehiro Kurita sat in the cockpit of his Warhammer watching as a convoy of hovertrucks streamed down the highway leading north from the city. The insides of the transports contained government files and the valuable artworks of his palace. Where the contents were close to the maximum safe tonnage for the hovercraft, bureaucrats and their families had been permitted to huddle in the remaining space.
Somewhere near the head of the massive convoy were the limousines carrying Hehiro’s mother and his children. Hopefully Leonard would listen to his grandmother’s advice.
The reason for the evacuation was also visible in the sky, lights south rather than east of the city. Dropships landing. Hehiro would like to think that there was no possibility that a band of pacifist farmers from the Periphery could not possibly threaten the Imperial Palace, protected as it was by the Otomo, reinforced with Galedon Regulars and the elite Proserpina Hussars.
But he would have liked also to have thought that a band of periphery vagabonds could not have killed his elder son Martin almost two decades ago.
And these are more than mere farmers, a voice whispered in his mind. How will you repel them? The voice sounded much like his mother.
“How embarrassing,†Hehiro mused wryly, remembering his silent derision of Ursula Liao’s decision to move her court from Sian – now only two jumps from the Taurians – to the safer Capella. In retrospect there would be definite benefits to a more central capital, one unstained by the history of the Von Rohrs dynasty or by the shame of this battle being fought on its soil.
“Sir?â€
“Heads in the Admiralty will roll for permitting this disgrace,†Hehiro explained himself smoothly. “Now it falls to us to protect Yamashiro.â€
There was a muted cheer from some of the younger mechwarriors but the older ones, the ones who remembered the border conflicts twenty years before, remained quieter.
The Kumo was not the only ship to have been stricken in the defense of New Samarkand. A pair of Sultan cruisers had similarly been destroyed, albeit it further from the gravity well. And to add insult to injury, many of the fighters responsible had flown off what was recognisably a copy of the Draconis Combine’s new Samarkand-class carrier. DCS Samarkand and her first sister ship would not launch for almost four years.
On the road the last hovertruck passed by and military police now began to wave private vehicles through so that they too could leave the endangered city behind them. The cars and vans were still being steered away from the main roads however, permitting the little column to make its way swiftly towards the ancient fortifications that had protected Yamashiro when it was merely one city-state among many, before the rise of Shiro Kurita.
In those days, of course, warfare had been a matter of infantry and of tanks that were laughable in the face of even a single BattleMech, but the lines of firing positions and bunkers remained as historical landmarks and a broad greenbelt had been retained as parkland, banishing the suburbs and private estates kilometres from Yamashiro.
Somewhere to the south, the Outworlds Alliance’s armed forces would soon be unloading their warriors and preparing to march. Hehiro watched militia platoons filter into the bunkers, spread among the regular DCMS infantry battalions that would hopefully stiffen their ranks. In the privacy of his cockpit where the serene dignity of his office would not be marred by the foreign vice, the Coordinator produced a thin Caph cigar and lit it. A second cigar remained wrapped in one pocket. If he won this, he felt he would have earned it.
The first attacks weren’t the sort of proud charge that the DCMS would have indulged in. A ‘Mech or two would emerge from the shadows of the part, firing off a PPC and perhaps LRMs before fading back out of range.
It was frustrating.
Hehiro fired off both PPCs at an enemy ‘Mech, a Warhammer ironically. He saw one shot land, pulverising the armour just below the heavy ‘Mech’s missile launcher, but the enemy ‘Mech had also scored a hit, not on Hehiro’s Warhammer but on the Dervish next to him, and was backing up quickly. Almost immediately Hehiro lost track of it , masked by a dip on the ground.
“The cowards do not dare to fight us.†A Banshee in the colours, muted by the darkness, of the Galedon Regulars stepped forward out of the fortifications. “One attack will sweep them away.â€
Fool. Hehiro spread the arms of his ‘Mech wide. “So? You may attack then, Captain Symond. Surely such miserable foe will fall to your strength alone.â€
“Alone?â€
“Yes.†The Co-ordinator might have felt for the young fool, but he had put himself forward as an example of why a disciplined defense would be required tonight.
The Banshee paused as if in disbelief and then started to stride forwards, the PPC and autocannon at its hip ready to fire. Symonds did so almost immediately and Hehiro almost fired when he saw shadows emerge in the distance to fire. Previously only a few Mechs at a time had appeared, giving the appearance of weakness. But now, well out of reach of weapons fired from the defences, a dozen or more ‘Mechs of a type he’d seen earlier moved into view and laid into the Banshee with a barrage of PPC and flight after flight of LRMs.
The mighty BattleMech was powerfully armoured and weathered the storm of fire, raising arms to shield its cockpit as it strode forward, weapons firing. Impulsive and stubborn, the young Captain might have been, but he was a skilled Mechwarrior.
It was not enough however.
The second heavy barrage caused the Banshee to stagger. The third brought it to its knees, frozen and still like a statue.
“That was the price of impatience,†Hehiro observed coldly. “We shall drive them from the soil of New Samarkand when the time is right. Not when they seek to lure us into the open. Remember, to break the line is to permit the enemy an open road into the capital of the Combine.â€
A light upon his console indicated a private signal and he activated it. “This is the Coordinator.â€
“Sir, this is Brigadier Fujimora of the Prosperina Hussars. I offer no disobedience sir, but I have sent out scouts on foot and it appears that perhaps as little as a single regiment is facing us. It is of course likely that they have hidden reserves...â€
Hehiro shook his head wearily. “They do indeed have reserves, Colonel, but not behind them. Even after shielding the landings they have many squadrons of aerospace fighters ready to cut us apart as we cross the open ground around the cities. But they cannot stay at that readiness forever and our own remaining fighters are preparing us to support the attack at dawn.â€
“Thank you sir.†Fujimora sounded reassured. “If they try to attack before then, we shall break them.â€
“Indeed we shall,†Hehiro agreed, trying not to think too much about what was happening in other cities. Yamashiro was built around the imperial court and the poltical and administrative functions of a capital city. In defending it he had declined to similarly protect other cities with a more industrial identity. The financial and military consequences of those factories, many protected only by their local security, being destroyed would be far-reaching.
But lose Yamashiro? Lose the capital of Shiro Kurita and of every Coordinator since? It would destroy the credibility of the McAllister-Kurita line of which he was heir. And that way led civil war because there was no other clear succession.
Priorities. Factories could be rebuilt, given time. The reputation of House Kurita, once broken, could never be.
A pair of the enemy Mechs closed in again and Hehiro raised one arm to fire into the nearer of the two. “Don’t waste your missiles,†he ordered. “Let them think we are running short of ammunition, it may lure them into a rash attack. In fact, all light ‘Mechs are to step back from the line and their Mechwarriors rest. We shall want their full energy when the sun rises.â€
In the east the first glimmer of sun was visible, the sky pinkening visibly. Hehiro looked at the forces flanking him in either direction. Grey and tan Galedon Regulars intermixed with green and blue Prosperina Hussar BattleMechs – there had been no time to adopt field colours properly so both regiments would fight in their parade colours.
The Otomo were a block of black around him, like lurking shadows in the morning light. A faint mist had risen with the dawn, giving a dramatic feel to the battlefield.
It had been more than an hour since the last attack by the Outworlders. In the distance ahead their BattleMechs could be seen formed up into ranks, supported by a similar number of tanks. No doubt they understood what was to come.
“Draconians,†Hehiro ordered. “These are the orders of the Coordinator: crush these barbarians and drive them from the soil. The time to charge is now!â€
He was gratified to hear enthusiastic shouts from the Mechwarriors, their spirits unbroken by the long night. Many, particularly those in the Wasps and Stingers had taken a few hours rest if their spirits allowed, the short ranged weapons they carried not suitable for the long-range sparring.
Now those light ‘Mechs were in the fore – using their jump jets to leap from the cover of the fortifications, now scarred again by battle as they had been over three hundred years ago. Behind them Dervish mechs, ammunition stores full of hoarded missiles, were scarcely less eager.
But only the inherent lack of speed in larger machines prevented the bulky Mackies copied from Terran examples or the lighter, more modern heavyweights like Hehiro’s Warhammer from keeping pace. And behind them came tanks – mostly the unimaginatively named Tora battle tanks with infantry carriers scuttling after them. In many cases infantry were even clinging to the sides of the battle tanks, standing ready to defend the machines that carried them from enemy anti-tank infantry.
It had been twenty years since Hehiro had last gone to battle, but he could feel the temptation to run headlong at the foe. He restrained himself: let the advance companies take the measure of the foe and then he would focuse the might of the Otomo’s power against points of resistance.
Overhead the familiar scream of jet engines and fusion turbines echoed over Yamashiro. The Outworlders were descending from the sky to savage the DCMS regiments as they crossed the open ground, but the Combine’s Saber interceptors were rising, supported by dozens of militia-operated conventional fighters, to challenge the lumbering ground-attack fighters and force their bomb-laden escorts to dump their hardpoints to ward off the Draconian pilots.
Hehiro was almost half-way across the distance to the Outworlder lines and they hadn’t moved at all when the fiorst bombs began to land. Most – given the tangled situation in the skies, understandably – did no more than hammer at the parkland but inevitably some did more. He saw one tank emerge unscathed from a near miss, its flank covered by bloodstains from the infantry that had been hanging against it.
A Mackie staggered on, one arm torn entirely away by a direct hit but the mechwarrior undaunted by damage that in a less dire situation might have justified pulling back for repairs. Hehiro himself felt the ground shake as a bomb landed close behind his Warhammer, causing minor damage to the rear armour.
Closer now, hundreds of pounding metal feet carrying them forwards with irresistible force. The first missiles shot from the Outworld ‘Mechs and tanks – more from the latter than the former, which continued to hold their ground as if unconcerned that they were seriously outnumbered and facing the unalloyed wrath of the Dragon. Privately Hehiro could respect the valour of the enemy Mechwarriors but it would be far more convenient if their nerve had broken so that they could be run down like dogs.
The leading companies were within two hundred metres and lasers flashed – invisible outside the cockpit but recognised and displayed by the augmented sensors of each ‘Mech. Even now the Outworlders lines remained solid and a chill went through Hehiro. It was impossible for any force to be so disciplined – it was inane for any force to refrain from using the mobility of their BattleMechs in such close quarters.
“Brigadier Fujimora!†he snapped. “This is a decoy or a bait! Do not close!â€
Not all the ‘Mechs were still – up ahead an Archer lowered its shoulders and fired off a titanic volley of missiles that smashed apart a Wasp instantly. However when a Dervish took revenge with a far more paltry attack, less than a dozen missiles scoring on the ‘heavy BattleMech’, panels of metal tore away like tissue paper from a design that was renowed for resilience.
Then it exploded, scattering not only what was clearly not modern armour or even a fusion-reactor’s components across the landscape. No, it was scattering submunitions.
Hehiro raised his PPC and fired into a Tora tank or something similar, only to see it shatter under only one hit. The wreckage detonated.
“These are not true warriors!†he declared, overriding all other orders. “Or at least there are few amongst them.†He used his other PPC to exchange fire with a battered looking Thunderbolt that was most clearly active. Then he targeted the silent, still shape of a Mackie beside the Thunderbolt and unleashed the potent one-shot rocket launchers that replaced the SRM launcher common to Warhammers. Three-score rockets roared across the distance like dragon’s breath and the pseudo-Mackie, disintegrated, the force of the explosion hurling the Thunderbolt to the ground.
“Flanking forces circle around these holdouts and pursue the true enemy.†He brought his PPCs to bear and fired both into the back of the fallen Thunderbolt, regardless of the sweat that dripped down his face as the heat rose sharply within his cockpit. “Otomo! Engage the enemy at range, no doubt they have mined the ground around themselves.â€
